


Herr Stick

by Rockym82



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack Fic, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:11:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockym82/pseuds/Rockym82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very, very silly fanfic about Germany loving Herr Stick and the complications that arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herr Stick

“Ah, Herr Stick,” Germany looked over to the broken off tree branch laying in the chair next to him. “Such a lovely sunset, don’t you agree?” Germany momentarily turned his gaze away from the wooden rod to look at the beautiful sky. “I am so glad you could join me.” Germany glanced back at the stick and away with a small blush on his face. “Perhaps later we can…”

“Germany! Germany!” A cheerful familiar voice called after opening the back door. “How ya been? Wow, what a pretty sunset. Let’s watch it together. Oh good you got another seat out here. Let me just sit…”

“Stop!” Germany yelled and Italy froze. “You almost sat on Herr Stick!”

The smile faltered from Italy’s face, and he slowly turned his head to ‘Herr Stick’. With a now sour face, Italy begrudgingly greeted the stick. “Hello…again…Herr Stick…”

“Ah, good you remember him.”

“…How could I forget…”

“Now, Italy, since Herr Stick is using that chair, why don’t you use this chair and I’ll go bring us some drinks,” Germany said as he got up to allow Italy to sit down. Germany turned towards the stick again. “Please excuse my…umm…” The blush spread across Germany‘s face. “I will be but a moment.”

Italy watched Germany leave and glared at the stick. He slowly shook his head and clenched his fists. Then an idea struck. He got up to open Germany’s back door.

Germany had just finished pouring all three glasses full when Italy came in running.

“Germany! Germany, it’s terrible!” Italy flailed his arms around.

“Italy! What’s wrong?”

“I tried to stop them, I really did, but I couldn’t…”

“What are you babbling ab…”

“Herr Stick! They got him!”

It was as if he had been shot. Without even thinking Germany ran outside. Herr Stick…no…he just couldn’t…

But it was too late as Germany stared at the carnage. The raw carnage. The raw horrid carnage. The raw horrid unbelievable carnage that greeted his sight and could never ever be unseen.

His cute widdle puppies were nibbling on the stick like a chew toy. Yes, a tasty widdle chew toy, just gnawing and nibbling and chewing. Oh so cute.

Germany dropped down to his knees and stretched his arms out to the heavens. “Nooooooooooooooo!”

Italy couldn’t help but smirked at Herr Stick’s broken body. “Bitch…” he muttered under his breath.

Alas, poor Italy. For there were many sticks in the world and thus many Herr Sticks.

The next time Italy saw Germany was on the street…with another damn stick.

“Ah, Italy! Good new! Herr Stick has recovered and is back with me, I mean with the world…Yes…” Germany blushed as he looked at the stick.

Italy found himself forcing a smile, though evil and enraging thoughts filled his head. “Herr Stick! You’re alive! Oh joy…” Italy’s smile got bigger. “Please may I give Herr Stick a hug, Germany?” Italy asked with arms wide open.

“Ah, sure Italy, but please, do be gentle. He is still healing,” Germany said as he gingerly handed the stick to Italy who held it against his body. And then,

“Oh my god, Germany!” Italy pointed behind Germany. “What is that thing?!”

“What!” Germany whipped his head around. “Where?”

Italy chucked the stick into oncoming traffic soon as Germany’s head was turned. “No! Herr Stick, don’t commit suicide.”

“Nooooooooooooooo!”

And the next day.

“Herr Stick!” Germany cried. “How did he end up in this pizza oven?!”

Italy happily munched on a slice. “I don’t know, but we can always remembering him by this pizza we’re eating.” Nom nom nom.

“Nooooooooooooooo!”

The next day.

“I’m so sorry, Germany, but the Mafia, well, as my big brother says, Herr Stick is sleeping with the fishes now.”

“Nooooooooooooooo!”

And the next.

“Termites! They came out of nowhere.”

“Nooooooooooooooo!”

And the next…

“I’m so sorry, Germany, but in your anger…you killed him.”

“Nooooooooooooooo!”

Then one day at an EU meeting.

England entered the room, blinked in confusion, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Yes, Germany was lovingly holding a stick close to him. “What in the world?”

A small grumble filled the room, and England’s eyes darted to the source. “Italy, what the hell is going on here? Has Germany lost his mind?”

“It’s that cheap hussy of a stick.”

“Have you done mad?”

“I swear I keep destroying those sticks every day and every day Germany finds another frickin’ stick to love over me.”

“Look, Italy, it can‘t be that ba…” England stopped and stared wide eyed as Germany was now smearing liverwurst on the stick.

“Is dat good, Herr Stick? I’m sorry I haven’t been feeding you good lately, but I will feed my stickity friend.” Germany blushed. “Maybe one day we can be more than friends.”

“Okay Germany has lost his mind,” England said flatly.

“I agree, England!”

“Yes, see even the Flying Mint Bunny agrees with me.”

“Who are you talking to, England?” Italy asked.

“Why the Flying Mint, oh never mind!” England sat down next to France.

“You know, England,” France began, “it’s really not that shocking to see Germany in love with a stick. I mean, Germany has had a figurative stick up his ass for years, so why now…”

“Stop saying such things, frog! I mean my god, second to Lithuania, Germany was the most normal one of us all. For him to lose his marbles is just sad!”

“Well, what do you suppose we do about it then?”

“I don’t know, if only some way to get rid of that stick for good.”

“Gee, England,” The Flying Mint Bunny flew up to him. “Why would you want to do that? I mean Mr. Germany sure looks happy with that fine looking stick.” The Flying Mint Bunny sighed. “Oh, I would be so lucky if I had such a handsome strong stick by my side.”

England shifted his eyes between Germany, Herr Stick, and the Flying Mint Bunny.

The next day.

“Nooooooooooooooo! He left me!” Germany held onto the rejection letter (smelling oddly of roses and with a few tea stains on it). “How could he leave for that whore of a,” Germany read the line again, “”Flying Mint Bunny”? What the hell is a flying mint bunny?!”

“There, there Germany.” Italy comforted his friend , a huge smile on his face, and held up another spoonful of chocolate ice cream. “I know you’ll find love again.” 

Germany sniffled and took the offered sweet. 

Meanwhile.

“Wheeeee!” Flying Mint Bunny and Herr Stick lived happily ever after.


End file.
